


the years we spent growing from the earth

by hellbeast



Series: the years we spent growing from the earth verse [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Barely Canon Compliant, Looking Canon Dead In The Eye As You Blatantly Ignore It, Other, This Is MY Worldbuilding Now, Trafalgar Law: Walking Human Disaster, Unreliable Narrator, Weird Science™, i'm gonna shake devil fruits until logic falls out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbeast/pseuds/hellbeast
Summary: [AU where Law doesn't escape Minion Island. The devil drags him down, down, down. This is the story of how Law claws his way back up.]
Relationships: Baby 5 & Trafalgar D. Water Law, Bepo & Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante & Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo & Trafalgar D. Water Law, Trafalgar D. Water Law & Monet, Trafalgar D. Water Law & Vergo
Series: the years we spent growing from the earth verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790830
Comments: 20
Kudos: 75





	the years we spent growing from the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cora-san wanted Law to live, to be free. Law... doesn't know how to do that.

Snow, it turns out, is cold.

It’s a novel experience, or it _would_ be, if Law wasn’t still feeling the bone-deep lethargy that comes with the final stages of Amber Lead Syndrome. His limbs ache and his skin itches and his head feels muffled, but the snow falling all around Minion Island is gloriously, numbingly _cold_.

No time to stop, though. Cora-san has him tucked close in his arms, and while Law would’ve once protested, it’s nice to not have to walk for once. It’s nice to be held close, protected.

It’s less nice to be fleeing from Joker _and_ the Marines. Again.

Law stifles a cough into the plumage of Cora-san’s coat, and can’t help the tremble of his body.

“We’re almost there, Law.” Cora-san tells him, with a lilt to his voice that tries desperately to promise brighter, warmer days ahead. But even with his head as stuffed and congested as it is, even with the fatigue pulling at his bones like a physical weight, Law can hear the strain in Cora-san’s voice.

Joker is coming. Joker is coming and Law is weak, they’re _both_ weak. Law knows that they won’t get away, not this time. But he shouldn’t think like that. Cora-san deserves his faith. Cora-san deserves everything that Law has left to give.

“C—” Law tries, but his breath stutters out in a wheeze, and he has to stop talking so that he can cough—the deep, rattling coughs that shake his ribs and scrape his throat raw—past Cora-san’s elbow, the harsh motions of it stinging his lips and nose and throat.

“Shit.” Cora-san bites out, and though he’s too weak to lift his head, Law can smell the low, full scent of the herbs particular to the brand of cigarettes that Cora-san smokes. “One second, I’ll find us some cover.”

“Cor’s’n,” Law tries again, tongue heavy in his mouth and temples throbbing. It feels important that he gets the chance to say this. Cora-san is the most beautiful thing that has ever entered Law’s shitty, dirty, miserable life, and even though Law is going to die, he needs to tell Cora-san how much he means. How much everything he’s done has meant. Dragging Law from hospital to hospital, refusing to give up when Law’s been dead for years already and has just been waiting for his body to realize it.

Cora-san is just _too good_ , Law decided years ago. It’s always baffling to remember that he and Joker are actually related, and even now, Law wonders what exactly is so _integral_ to Cora-san that Joker lacks so completely. A soul, maybe.

Though, whatever it is that Joker’s missing, Law lacks it, too.

“Shh,” Cora-san chides, but he pulls Law closer, holds him so tight and so close that Law can hear the faint thump of his heartbeat through the dense ruff of that hideous feathered coat. Cora-san is warm. Law is warm too, but it’s the bleary kind of heat that accompanies fevers. Law would prefer to be tucked up next to something cool, maybe even burrow into the snow that’s sure to be freezing, but Cora-san is warm and it’s… not entirely terrible.

“I’ll find us some place out of the snow, I promise.”

“Nn,” Law manages, pulling his head away from the warmth of Cora-san’s side. The effort leaves him shaking so hard that his vision wobbles. He casts his bleary gaze as close as he can figure to where Cora-san’s face should be. “Cora… Cora-san, it’s okay. It’s _okay_.”

They’re not going to make it. They’re not going to escape. There was never any chance that they were going to, not when Law can’t even walk on his own. Not when Law likely won’t make it to sunset.

With his head tilted back, his vision finally clears just in time for him to see the way that Cora-san’s jaw twitches, his teeth clenched so hard that both of his sternomastoids jump.

“I…”

“It’s okay,” Law says again, even meaning it this time. This, their presence here on Minion Island, is lifetimes away from where Law thought he’d be. Even when on the run from pirate and marine alike, being held safe in the arms of someone who loves him is more than Law expected, and more than he deserves.

Cora-san drops to his knees right there, into a snow drift.

“Cora-san?”

He’s staring at Law, mouth tight. He looks like he wants to cry.

“I’m selfish, and a coward,” Cora-san declares, the words heavy like a confession. “But you’re not going to die, Law.”

Cora-san hugs Law closer with one arm, and pulls his coat off with the other, setting it down on the ground. He places Law on top of it, a makeshift nest of feathers and silk. Law has his mouth open to say—something, anything—when Cora-san reaches into his pack and pulls out a Devil Fruit.

It looks like a strawberry, heart-shaped and bright red. Law would almost dismiss it as nothing more, if not for the fact that it’s nearly as big as Cora-san’s palm is wide and the fact that it’s covered in deep, intricate swirls.

For a moment, Law’s mind just. Stops.

Cora-san has a Devil Fruit. Cora-san has _had_ a Devil Fruit, for who knows how long. He’s holding it in his hands, proffering it like some kind of priceless jewel. He’s had it for, for days or weeks or even _months_ , and now—when Joker is on their heels, when the marines are after them, when Law can all but feel death creeping up behind him— _now_ , he offers it to Law.

“I’m dying,” Law protests, numbly. Stupidly. His mind is racing, thoughts tripping over themselves, but those are the only words he actually manages to say.

“I should’ve given it to you earlier,” Cora-san admits, shoulders hunched, fingers picking at his last cigarette fitfully. He won’t look Law in the eye. “But it should cure you.”

“Amber Lead Syndrome doesn’t _have_ a cure,” Law’s big, idiot mouth says. It takes just about every last bit of strength he has to force himself upright in the tangle of Cora-san’s coat, but he manages. He can feel the snow seeping in through the feathers, and he was right. It's both freezing cold and incredibly soothing.

“Fine,” Cora-san amends, almost sounding irritated, the way he always does when Law gets so single-mindedly pedantic about medicine. “It might not cure you, but you won’t die. Take it, Law.”

 _I don’t want it_ , Law almost says.

He reaches out for the fruit, slowly. His hands tremble, so unsteady that for a moment he fears he’ll drop it, but Cora-san leans closer, pressing the fruit firmly into Law’s palms.

“Why?” Law asks.

Cora-san only give him a look, and doesn’t so much as blink until Law begrudgingly raising his thin, shaking arms and bites into the fruit. Cora-san lets his arms drop, squatting there with his long limbs folded up like a troll under a bridge. He sighs.

“I know you were awake, back on the skiff.”

Back when he got the call on the Den Den Mushi, he means. The call from the man called Sengoku.

“You’re a Marine,” Law asks without asking.

Cora-san, crouched down in a drift of snow, unlit cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth, lets his hands fall open in a sarcastic pantomime of surprise. “I’m a Marine.”

It seemed absurd, that Cora-san—Joker’s brother—of all people, would be a Marine. But in the same breath, it made a perfect kind of sense. Joker and Cora-san are opposites in all other ways, so why not this, too?

The fruit is bitter, like citrus and salt, but it’s bearable. Law’s sense of taste was one of the first things to go when the symptoms for Amber Lead Syndrome first began to manifest. Everything has had the taste of ash and grit ever since, so the fact that he can even taste the fruit at all is a minor miracle.

Muscle atrophy and fatigue were other early symptoms. It should be nothing: to sit upright, to hold something in his hands, to bite and chew. It’s not nothing. It’s _exhausting_ , what feels like his every thought accompanied by aching, tired, shaking muscles. His throat is raw, his jaw is sore, his teeth ache. He’s only managed two bites.

“The Marines consider the Ope Ope no Mi to be priceless,” Cora-san explains. “Because the user can grant immortality. My brother wants it for the same reason.”

The Ope Ope no Mi, then. Law can't say he's ever heard of it and the name itself doesn't mean much to him. Some way to grant immortality? Does that mean that eating the fruit itself doesn't? It seems strange for there to be a Devil Fruit that’s more for the benefit of others than for the person who eats it.

“Is that why you gave it to me?”

Even as he asks, Law knows it's not the truth. It wouldn't make any sense; if the Ope Ope is so valuable, then the fruit alone—whole and uneaten—would've been an undeniable bargaining chip against both the Marines and Joker. The fact that Cora-san instead pressed the fruit into Law’s hands, the fact that Cora-san chose to give it to him at all… that means _something_.

Cora-san doesn’t answer for a moment. Instead he watches Law half-heartedly gnaw at the fruit, jaw too sore and weak to take normal bites. Law gets tired after a few unproductive minutes and stops. He probably doesn’t even need to eat the whole thing anyway.

But the moment he pulls the fruit away from his mouth, Cora-san says, gravely, “Finish your fruit, Law.”

Law blinks. It feels like the simple motion takes an eternity. “But I’m tired.”

Cora-san shuffles closer. “I know you are,” he soothes, voice low and soft, “but I need you to finish the fruit.”

“But,” Law starts to say. Everyone knows that all it takes is one bite. That’s just how the Akuma no Mi _work_.

“We don’t know for sure,” Cora-san is whispering now, his eyes pinning Law like a slide under a microscope. “I know that you’re tired, but you _need_ to finish that fruit.”

Law bites the inside of his cheek hard, but it does nothing to stave off the tight stinging in his eye. He doesn’t want to disappoint Cora-san—he’s never wanted that—but…

“I can’t,” the words come out plaintively, watery and choked.

Cora-san reaches out, gently pulls the barely eaten Ope Ope from Law’s numb, lax fingers. He doesn’t say anything, just pries the fruit apart, into smaller and smaller pieces. He picks one piece and then holds it out, right in front of Law’s mouth.

“Come on,” he prompts, when Law doesn’t move. The look on Law’s face makes him sigh, and he repeats, gently, “Come on, Law.”

It must take hours, years, centuries. Cora-san prods piece after piece into Law’s mouth, and then narrow fingers press at the curve of his jaw, helping him chew. Slowly but surely, the pieces of the Ope Ope disappear.

“ _Why_ ,” Law begs, pleads, demands, more than once. Why go through all this trouble? Why do all of this for a child already dead? Why throw away not only his life, but his career for something so broken and worthless as _Law_? Cora-san only keeps feeding him, though once he pauses to say:

“I don’t know yet. I was supposed to deliver the fruit to Sengoku, or at least keep it away from Doffy. But Law,” Cora-san holds Law’s gaze, entreating and so kind that it burns. “I wasn’t just going to let you _die_.”

 _Why not_ , Law can’t help but think. He should’ve burned up with the rest of Flevance. He should be dead. He _is_ dead; his body just doesn’t know it yet. He knows better than to say so out loud, though. Talking that way—telling the truth—has always made Cora-san so upset that Law eventually stopped.

Cora-san gives Law the last bite of fruit, sticky and cold from the sharp wind and the light snowfall, and the moment it touches his tongue, it’s like licking a copper wire, like chewing through a mouthful of coins. With Cora-san’s help, he’s managed to eat the entirety of the apparently renown Ope Ope no Mi.

Nothing happens.

If anything, Law feels worse than he did before.

“I’m tired,” he tells Cora-san. At long last, he lets his overtaxed muscles relax, falling back into a sodden mess of feathers and snow.

“Hey, hey,” Cora-san says mildly, jostling Law with the heel of his foot. “Don’t fall asleep now. We need to keep moving.”

“Mm,” Law agrees, without moving.

Cora-san sighs, and Law can hear the slush-slush of snow, and then he’s up, tucked close again. The feather coat snaps as Cora-san shakes the snow off of it, and then he slips it on around the both of them. The feathers are still a little damp, but the silk traps the heat between them.

“Feel my forehead,” Law commands. He does his best not to squirm away from Cora-san’s hand, both overwhelmingly hot and uncomfortably cool against his skin.

“It doesn’t feel worse,” Cora-san muses around his cigarette, “but it doesn’t feel any better, either.”

Law would kill for some antibiotics, or even just something hot to sip at. A small part of him, the part that he’s been trying to silence for years because it’s so useless, wishes that he wasn’t dying to begin with. It’s the same part that wishes Flevance hadn’t burned, although it wishes that a bit more quietly, because that would mean that he would’ve never met Cora-san. That small little part of him wants to cry. Wants to scream. Wants to tell Cora-san that it’s not _fair_.

“How far?” He asks instead. There’s no use in thinking about impossible things like a child.

Cora-san squints off into the distance and then looks back down at Law. “There should be an outpost or something near the southern coast. We’ll make it.”

“But how _far_?” Law prods.

Cora-san snorts, holding Law even closer beneath the coat. “You actually sound your age for once. We’ll definitely be there before sundown.”

Law scowls thunderously. “Can you just give me a distance.”

Cora-san makes a great show of drawing a hand from beneath the coat before he flicks Law in the forehead. “What does it even matter to you, it’s not like you’re walking.”

“ _That’s not the point—_ ” Law manages to grit out before he changes tracks. “Just admit you don’t know!”

Cora-san sputters, a look of such deep offense on his face that it can’t be anything but faked and over-exaggerated. “I definitely _know_ , okay—”

“Then just _tell_ me—”

“It’s not like you need to know—”

“ _You definitely don’t know, you giant shitty l **iar**_ —”

“Y’know, Law, it’s _real_ hurtful when you call me outta my name like that…”

* * *

Minion Island doesn’t seem to have much going for it aside from its docks and an abandoned marine base. That, and an endless amount of snow. Cora-san walks for what seems like an eternity, step after step, but the scenery remains unchanged. Snow, and more snow, and snow-covered rocks. The occasional stretch of slick ice.

“The base shouldn’t be too far,” Cora-san says, or said, or had said. Law’s not entirely sure anymore. Everything is starting to feel fuzzy around the edges, the white of the snow blending and warping into the dull gray of the overcast sky. Law belatedly realizes that he doesn’t know what happens after someone eats a Devil Fruit, especially a Paramecia type. Logia-types and Zoan-types seem rather straightforward, but the Paramecia classification more or less boils down to “not Logia or Zoan”. The fact that he’s been slowly dying of Amber Lead poisoning probably isn’t helping.

“Feel my forehead,” Law tells Cora-san again, or at least, he thinks he does. His tongue feels clumsy, too heavy and uncooperative. 

“Law?” Cora-san says, maybe. It’s faint and warped, like his words are traveling through water and mud instead of air.

“I’m fine,” Law says, or tries to say. His vision keeps blurring between too-bright light and odd muted colors. It doesn’t seem very promising, as far as Cora-san’s miraculous Devil Fruit cure goes. He can’t feel much of anything, which doesn’t speak well for the fruit having helped more than it hurt. Everything is muffled and distant even though Law knows the pain is lying in wait.

Then there are mouths with sharp teeth pressed against his skin—no, those are hands, he thinks. They pull and grab at him and move him and Law can’t even tell which way is up anymore. There’s pressure but no pain, or pain muted under the haze of whatever it is that a Devil Fruit does to a body.

There’s noise, things that might be words, but Law can’t focus on them. Everything is too hot, too cold, too dull, too sharp.

A memory comes to mind, fuzzy half-thoughts settling into—

_When assessing a fever, you want to check for—don’t want to let the brain overheat. Keep the patient warm, soups and hot beverages will do well, sweating the fever out—_

Sweating the fever out—

Fever—

Slides under scrutiny, cells dividing, germs being absorbed—

Sweat the fever out—Don’t let the brain overheat—too hot for enzymes to function properly—skin vesel vasodilation—should’ve _looked_ at the damn fruit first—

The world spins, and Law spins with it. His skin is burning, peeling, cracking, flaking away into dust, into snow, into nothing. Claws and fangs and hard edges pull at his muscles, he can feel the slow tear of ligament, the sudden snap of broken cartilage—

There’s loud and soft and cold cold cold, but the second it touches Law it becomes scorching, becomes lava, becomes scalding—Everything is melting away, freezing and shattering in brittle pieces—

Everything is hot-loud-quiet-freezing and then Law is suddenly, almost painfully, awake and aware. His face is wind-chapped and his throat stings and he’s standing on shaky, coltish legs with his hands clenched tight into the plumage of Cora-san’s _hideous_ feather jacket and—

“Doffy,” Cora-san says, is saying, has been saying. He’s standing in front of Law, one arm reaching back to help hold him steady.

“Hey, Roci,” says a voice, and Law knows that it’s Joker and Law knows that he and Cora-san are about to die.

“Doffy,” Cora-san says again, and Law can’t tell if it’s a plea or an admonishment or what, his head spinning with the beat of his heart echoing so loud within his skull that he might be shaking.

“I been hearin’ some real interesting stuff, lately. Heard you picked up somethin’ of mine.” Law can hear Joker, moving closer, voice deepening. His hand spasms, clenching and almost ripping away a handful of black feathers.

“Okay, now fork it over.”

There’s a moment, nothing but the sound of wind over snow.

Law leans forward, lets his head rest on the back of Cora-san’s leg. He’s cold now, so _so_ cold, but his skin feels like a million ants, scurrying and _pricking_ and he’s so _tired_. He can’t even remember how long it’s been, since he and Cora-san started running.

There’s a sound, a crunch, loud in the quiet.

“Doffy,” Cora-san says, voice low in warning. He shifts forward a little, blocking Law from his brother’s view. But there’s a moment, a split-second where silk and feathers shift away and Law blearily catches sight of familiar pink frames.

“… Roci.”

Cora-san doesn’t answer.

“ _Rocinante_ ,” Joker says, slow and careful, except Joker’s never slow _or_ careful—

“ _Doflamingo_ ,” Cora-san replies, his voice still sharp. He sounds… dangerous. Law didn’t know he could do that.

Even then, Joker’s thrice as threatening with a fraction of the effort.

“Where’s my _fruit_ , Roci?” He demands, and for once, there’s no humor in his voice. He doesn’t sound like he’s got his usual smile on his face, and _that_ sets Law’s brain off like nothing else.

The chill of the snow creeps up along Law’s legs and he tries to lock his knees to stop the trembling. If he tilts a little to the side—he doesn’t have a choice, he can barely feel his legs—he can see the barest hint of Joker’s shoes.

“It’s gone, Doffy.” Cora-san says it firmly, like he’s daring Joker to prove otherwise.

There’s a scrape, then a click. That’s familiar, why is that familiar…?

A sudden waft of grey-white smoke, heavy with the scent of cloves. Cora-san’s brand of cigarette. But Cora-san lost his lighter something like two island ago—

“You’re not gonna find it, Doffy.” This time it’s defiant, but Cora-san’s voice is just as strained as Law feels.

There’s a long silence, fraught with tension, and Law has to bit his lip to quiet his ragged breathing.

“Oh hermanito, why’d you have to go and lie?” Joker’s voice has fallen to something pointed and sibilant, the smooth slide of a sharpened blade against silk.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Cora-san asks, and he nearly sounds unimpressed, save the faint hitch to his voice. Law’s hands clench fastidiously to the fabric of Cora-san’s pants.

“Hey, Trafalgar,” Joker calls suddenly, the words themselves even less expected, and it takes Law a long, slow moment to react to his own name.

“Don’t you—”

“C’mon, peek your head ‘round for a sec.”

“Doffy-”

Law manages half a step, more of an erratically controlled fall, until he’s shifted enough to see past Cora-san—

—frigid breeze winding through the snowfall—

Joker has a gun.

Joker has a gun and he’s pointing it _right at Cora-san_.

Law’s lungs are too small, his fingers completely numb, he can’t move, he can’t breathe—

“‘Least _one_ of you ain’t dumb,” Joker mutters, around the cigarette—from the brand Cora-san smokes, and the two of them have never looked more alike—in his mouth. “Y’look like shit, kid.”

The words weave themselves through Law’s ears, and absolutely none of it sticks. He can’t take his eyes away from the gun, the gun is still pointing _right at Cora-san_ , he—

“Now,” Joker continues, only this time Law can see the way he casually gestures with the hand holding the gun. “I’m gonna ask again.”

Cora-san is frozen before him, maybe even just as frozen as Law feels, the line of his legs tense, fists clenched. Law still can’t breathe.

Joker leans forward, looking dead at Law.

“Where’s my fruit?”

Cora-san’s hand is on Law’s shoulder, he realizes, as Cora-san squeezes it and shakes Law a little, like he wants to pull him close and push him away all at once.

Like a magnet, Law’s gaze is drawn from Joker—from Joker’s gun—up and over to Cora-san’s face. He’s pale with exhaustion, mascara smudged and only making the swollen skin beneath his eyes more obvious. He still has a cigarette jammed into the corner of his mouth, but it’s unlit and half-chewed.

He glances down, lightning quick, meeting Law’s eyes. There’s something there, in his eyes, that Law can’t quite—

His weak, numb fingers claw at his own chest, because that _look_ on Cora-san’s face—

His heart is thumping, erratic, thundering in his chest, stirred into a frenzy from a look alone. The two of them are still talking, maybe, but Law can only catch clips and snatches.

Cora-san’s mouth is moving, his face still turned towards Joker but again peeking down at Law with that _look_ —

“—Doffy—”

* * *

What Law will always remember is that the gunshot isn’t loud. It doesn’t echo in Law’s head. Time doesn’t slow down.

It’s… instantaneous. Too fast.

Law doesn’t even blink, but Cora-san is there, defiant in the face of Joker’s threat, refusing to betray Law, to give up on Law, and why does he keep _doing_ that, giving Law things like trust and faith, as though Law would ever know what to do with them?

Why do so much for Law, when he had his family, his job, so much more—?

And then Cora-san is on the ground, the snow beneath him slowly bleeding red. Law’s heart is pounding in his chest, is beating louder and louder, almost loud enough to compete with the gargantuan nothingness echoing throughout him. The wind blows through the snow with a scream.

Nothing is real. Nothing is real.

Cora-san’s eyes are still open. He doesn’t look surprised; he knew that he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. The black feathers of his coat are clumped together now, sticky with blood. His cigarette is still jammed in the corner of his mouth.

Law wants to wake up, now.

Joker lowers his gun, its barrel still smoking. He sighs, like he's tired. Like he didn’t just kill his own brother. Like this is all a waste of his time.

Law can't do anything, can only stare. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Nothing is real. The whole world is trembling. Nothing is real. This can't be real. Dark shapes swim in the corners of his vision and he wants them to swallow him whole, to take him away from this, this _fake, fake, fake—_

Dimly, Law hears his own name. Hears words, garbled noise. The world shakes and trembles and Law’s view of Cora-san is blocked by… pink?

"Law," Joker grits out, somewhere between saccharine and murderous. " _Where_ is my Ope Ope no Mi?"

He still has splatters of Cora-san's blood on his face, faint like freckles. He still has blood on his face and slicking down the topmost feathers of his jacket and it's just… business as usual with Joker. It's only about the Ope Ope for him, like Cora-san never existed.

Law doesn't answer, doesn't know what he'd say, even if he could convince his mouth to open. His tongue is sticky dry and leaden, useless and cumbersome. He stares, not at Joker, but at the blood slowly drying along the planes of his face.

In the empty, roaring silence in his head, things are shattering, are falling over, are crashing together. Everything slides back and forth, in and out of focus. _There_ , he thinks at some point, watching oxygenated blood dry brown and flaky. _Cora-san’s right there._

" _ **Law**_ ,” Joker snaps, harsher now.

And maybe Law should be afraid, maybe he should be more cooperative; he just watched Joker shoot his own brother and move on without pause or lament. Law imagines he's worth a lot less. But.

 _but_ …

Cora-san is… dead.

Law has only made it this far because of Cora-san and now Cora-san is dead. Cora-san is right there, soaking his way deeper into the snow. He’s right there, drying in small drops along Joker’s jaw. There’s Cora-san, right there and there and there—

Law can feel something, something heavy bearing down on his shoulders, on his neck, and he wants it to drown him. He wants it to pull him down, crush him smaller and smaller until there’s nothing.

Law thought he was numb before, when he hated everything. But no. Before he was running, lashing out to return in equal measures the hurts that had been heaped upon him. Now...

Joker is angry, impatient. Law can read it in the crevices of his frown, the veins pulsing in his temples. But it's secondary, unimportant in face of the yawning undeniable fact of Cora-san's death.

Joker could kill him. Given his earlier actions, Joker is probably planning to kill him.

It doesn't matter. Law is already dead; has been dead long before he even met Cora-san.

(Only, that's not quite true, is it? The fetid taste of Cora-san's last true sacrifice is still lingering on the back of his tongue.)

Joker is barking something at someone, sharp gestures with long, deadly fingers. His voice has become even more faint, as though Law is hearing it from underwater.

That's... weird. Unimportant.

Oh. It looks like the others are here. Why would they all come to Minion Island?

Wait, no. That’s.. stone? He knows that tapestry. They’re—he’s back. He’s back at Joker’s.

Law is moving, the room is slowly rotating—oh, no, that's Vergo. He has one hand on Law's shoulder and is applying a gentle but firm pressure and Law's legs are moving, feeble and fawn-like, but moving. Vergo speaks, a jumble of unintelligible bass that Law feels more than he hears. Vergo’s hand is like an iron to Law's spine, a point of contact and heat that Law wants to writhe away from, but the first and only time he tries, his legs falter and he barely manages not to brain himself on the stone steps.

… When did they reach the stairs? Where are they going? When did they leave Minion Island—?

When did they leave Cora-san—?

Or maybe Joker brought his bits of Cora-san back with him, and wouldn’t that be funny—?

Vergo's hand returns, insistent but not forceful, and Law stumbles forward. It doesn't matter.

Cora-san is dead.

Nothing matters.

* * *

Waking up is a tragedy.

Law doesn’t remember being dragged back to his room, let alone falling asleep. Law would rather be dead, because at least then he’d still be with Cora-san—

The room he’s in has a high vaulted ceiling and familiar stone work. Probably in the Donquixote territory on Spider Miles, Law thinks that might be the closest base from Minion Island—

Law lurches upright and barely manages to twist in time to vomit onto the floor rather into his own lap. There's a precarious moment where he almost overbalances before he tightens his grip on the mattress and scratchy blankets—

The smell of bile and dust wafts up from the floor and someone is moving out in the hallway—

"Cora-san,” Law whispers, barely, more a shaping of comforting syllables from a dry, wordless throat. His throat aches. His eyes are sore. His arms are trembling.

“—awake," someone is saying, somewhere. Nearby? His head feels like it weighs ten thousand pounds and the thought alone of lifting it up makes more bile rise in his throat.

He vomits again, feels the lurch in his stomach scrape his throat raw, brings tears to his eyes.

Cora-san is dead, Law remembers (can't ever forget), and the tears come stronger, compromising his already blurry vision.

“—pped screaming, at least." That same faint voice grouses, only from closer now. Maybe.

“Cora-san,” Law whispers again, squeezing his eyes shut. It doesn’t help. His temples are throbbing and he can only think of red. Red, red, _red_ , like dew across Joker’s face. The barrel of the gun still smoking. Joker, smoking right along with it, smoking the same brand as Cora-san, even though Joker never smokes—

“—hey, Trafalgar, Joker wants to see you—”

Cora-san is dead. Law can absently note that his chest is heaving. His eyes are unfocused but he can feel the rapid movement of inhale-exhale, in-out. A dull tone starts up, humming in his ears and driving itself through his skull and Cora-san is _dead—_

And Joker—

And—

“—hey—”

Law screams.

* * *

At some point, Law comes back to himself, for whatever worth those words hold. His head aches and his eyes are burning and the only sound he can hear is his own erratic heartbeat.

Law’s mouth is dry and tacky but he knows if he opens it, he’ll start screaming again and never, ever stop, because—

—Because—

Because—

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Law whips his head to the side, heart racing, and finds himself meeting Joker’s eyes. Gaudy pink sunglasses, slid down the bridge of his nose _just_ enough that Law can see the hint of red irises.

“About time you woke up, you—”

Joker is talking. Law should listen, probably. But everything’s static. Nothing but white noise, any meaning jumbled into choppy pieces of sound that rattle around Law’s skull like dice.

But then his eyes catch and hold, focused on a handful of feathers on Joker’s coat, tipped dark red-brown. Slowly, he raises his head, and now he can see the faintest dots on Joker’s face.

He didn’t even bother to _wipe it away_ —

He—

“—with this shit, _again_ ,” Joker is grousing, leaning back in his chair. Law realizes that he’s on a bed. The same room, he thinks, high vaulted ceilings and half-familiar stone work. Law _aches_ , wants to go away, wants to _**stop**_ —

A moment.

Joker’s gone. Instead, there’s Vergo. Vergo’s also saying something, but Law’s thoughts are racing, clamoring too loudly for him to even pretend at attentiveness. Vergo leans forward, hand reaching out—

A moment.

Law is standing upright, barely. His legs are coltish, unsteady. He feels like he should collapse under the weight of his own misery, his skeletal body crushed to dust.

It’s the hall, the big one where Joker holds all his meetings. Law is moving, faulty step by faulty step. All the others are there, too. Names float through his mind, but he reaches for none of them, because he’s _here_ , he’s _awake_ , which can only mean that Cora-san is _**dead**_ —

A moment.

Hazy eyes, hazy thoughts. Joker shot him, just like that. And the whole time, Cora-san had been looking at Law with that _look_ on his face, the one that slowly demolishes Law’s heart every time he even thinks about it.

_**Pain.** _

A moment.

Law is upright, there is a hand at his back, Joker is in front of him, grin loud and pointed. He has one of Law’s hands, and he’s pulling string through Law’s skin like Law’s a puppet—

—like a puppet—

“Looks like you woke up a little, huh?” Joker asks, but he’s not waiting for answers, he’s got string at Law’s wrist and elbow and shoulder and it _hurts_.

 _What_ , Law would ask. Should ask.

He knows better than to ask Joker _why_ about anything and the _where_ doesn’t matter. Joker’s holding out his own hand now, demonstrating, and he twitches his fingers and Law’s arm jerks of its own volition and—

Cora-san had held Law close, had held him tight but soft, firm but gentle. The snow was so cold, and Cora-san kept running, kept going, knew what Joker would do if (when) he caught up, but he _still_ —

There’s a lot of pain. Law goes outside of his head for a while.

Law chokes on a ragged exhale and comes back to himself and his legs are spasming, moving him forward, but Law’s _not the one moving them_ —

Law _pulls_ and his body stops, his legs fold, he hits the stone floor knees first. There is noise all around him, voices echoing off stone walls, all of it muffed nonsense.

 _I wasn’t just going to let you die_ , Cora-san had promised.

 _Why not?_ Law hadn’t asked. He should’ve asked, he should’ve asked and he should’ve _died_ and—

Cora-san wanted Law to live, to be free. Law... doesn't know how to do that.

Now, Cora-san is dead. Joker killed him and dragged Law back into the Donquixote Family. Law used to hate everything, every aspect of the cruel and uncaring world that allowed Flevance to happen. Now...

Now, he thinks—

No, he _knows_.

Now, he hates Joker more than anything.

Law has the Ope Ope no Mi. Cora-san pressed his fingers to Law's jaw and forced him to chew through the pain and fatigue of Amber Lead Syndrome. Cora-san saved his life.

Cora-san damned him—

No. No. Cora-san saved his life, saved his blackened, empty heart. For those few years, Law knew happiness. And Love.

Cora-san was too—

And he now would never—

Joker starts laughing, the sound recapturing Law's attention.

"What's with that face, you little shit?" He taunts, and it is only then that Law realizes that he's glaring, lips pulled back to bare teeth in a snarl. Law forces his face blank, blank and empty, but Joker grabs his chin and leans in close.

"Don't go gettin’ big ideas now, Law."

 _I'm going to kill you_ , Law thinks with a sudden clarity. It's the first calm, rational thought he's had in ages. It feels like premonition, like carving the future into stone with his own two hands. Cora-san is dead and Law’s life means nothing, but Law is going to kill Joker. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, or what he has to suffer to achieve it, because Cora-san’s death is something that he can’t let go unavenged.

Just like his mother’s. His father’s. Lamie’s. All of Flevance. 

First, Joker. The Tenryuubito. The World Government.

He’s going to destroy them _all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayoo i was at zero-percent (0%) brain when i posted this, but here it is!! a series-spanning ode to my fave walking human disaster b/c if you don't make them Suffer™, are they even really your fave?
> 
> as always, hmu on [the hellsite](https://manymouths.tumblr.com)


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